THE SCENE: Softer sentiments prevail when William Wallace – a hardened killer of men if there ever was one – gives himself over to romance and sneaks away from his army for a single night with the woman he loves.
THE TEXT: The lovers met, and now a modest kiss
Lifts up the hero’s soul to laughing bliss.
Love feels the alarm, starts up in fond surprise,
And through his veins anew impetuous flies,
Inflames his soul, and sparkles through his eyes.
His sparkling eyes, that gently rolling play’d,
In hers, beheld bright virgin love betray’d;
And whilst a blush that redden’d on her face,
Paints out a modest flame with rosy grace.
Screw’d to the highest strain of bliss, his soul
Could scarce the’ impetuous tide of joy control;
But was still, and all was calm around,
When thus the Syren spoke in nectar sound:
“I own indeed I love, nor blush to tell,
The man that loves my country’s peace so well;
And would be found, ev’n with my life, to please
The chief that bravely scorns inglorious ease,
While Scotia calls. With fond discourse, thus talk’d they out the day,
While hours well pleas’d to hear, crown hours away,
Till Wallace saw the night on high displayed,
And with reluctance left the weeping maid.
With heavy heart he held the dreary way,
And join’d his friends that wond’red at his stay.
Now from the fair removed, our hero strove,
By warfare, to divert the pangs of love.
Fired with the though, he chokes the rising sigh,
And fondly seeks the distant enemy.
– The Life and Heroick Actions of the Renoun’d Sir William Wallace, Blind Harry, 15th Century AD
